


Crimson

by BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:36:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn/pseuds/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights, Emmanuel wakes to the sound of fluttering wings, some nights to the final hiss of the s on the name that is his but not his. He lays there and gently shakes, crimson behind his eyelids. But he does not remember why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson

Though he does not remember when he wakes, Emmanuel dreams in the colours and shades of blood.

His sleep is fitful and infrequent – he does it mostly to please Daphne, so as to not scare her. She is convinced he is still, in his core, human. He is not so sure. There is something wrong with him. There is something missing.

He knows his real name is not Emmanuel, and that he isn’t normal. There is a man in his forgotten dreams and he hisses a different name out through clenched teeth and it is the only thing he ever says, as though it is all he needs to tell him and all he needs to know.

_“Cas.”_

The man’s eyes are melted summer emerald, and when he looks at Emmanuel, _Cas_ still quivering on his lips, Emmanuel wants to kiss him. Sometimes he does, and those dreams are rough and burning, because the man doesn’t kiss, no, he _bites_ , uses his teeth like he wants to rip him apart. His hands are wanting and greedy and his body is oddly, uncomfortably familiar. He’ll push Emmanuel against the cold metal of a sleek, black car, and grind against him, unforgiving, and his mouth is vicious and he will not let up until both their lips are broken and bleeding. He leaves smeared bruises down Emmanuel’s neck and ribs and he tears at him, digging fingers into his hips and thighs as his voice hitches and moans around every _Cas, Cas, oh fuck Cas._

Emmanuel does not know if this man loves or hates him. Sometimes it feels like both.

Emmanuel does not always get to kiss the man of his forgotten dreams. Sometimes he watches him die.

The man will run blood-stained fingers across Emmanuel’s cheek and say his-not-his name once, like a prayer, and the _s_ will stick in his throat. His eyes turn the colour of bracken and his skin goes cold. Emmanuel will grip at his hand and whisper against his fingertips, telling the man _please, please, I need your help, please, I can’t do this alone, I can’t, it’s too big._ Telling him, angrily, _I did this ... I did this all for you. I gave you everything. I thought you said we were family. I’d have died for you._ Then, with tears hot on his face, _We’re getting out of here and we’re going home. I’m not leaving here without you and if ... If I can’t, I’ll go with you. I ... I need you._

But it is too late and Death wipes a gentle hand down the man’s face and claims his soul, leaving Emmanuel alone in his blood-coloured world. These dreams end with a slow, deliberate ascension, as Emmanuel climbs the clouds. They end in a plummet. They end in impact.

Some nights, Emmanuel wakes to the sound of fluttering wings, some nights to the final hiss of the _s_ on the name that is his but not his. He lays there and gently shakes, crimson behind his eyelids. But he does not remember why.


End file.
